University of Virginia Library

A DAY AT SOL. SLICE'S.

Shortly after my election, in 183-, I attended a
review held at "Slice's Muster Ground." Before
mounting my charger, I observed, tacked to a tree near
me, a sheet of foolscap paper, on which was written, in
letters of nearly an inch, the following:—

I had, by hard study, deciphered this fancy piece of
handicraft, when old Slice came up.

"Aha, kunnel, I see the 'lection haint spiled you;
you cares more for yer belly than you does for them
muster fellows yit."

I assured him I did.

"Well, could you make it out? Some of them unlarnt
fellers, Joe Smith, Tim Daly, and Bill Lever, the
ugly son of a gun, 'lowed they didn't know what it
was! Tim sed he reckined the old gobler must 'ave
trod in the ink! Now, I don't see nothin' agin them
letters. To be sure, that D is sot a leetle too forred;
but the balance is as good as anybody kin do. I
writ it big, so, as Scriptur' says, them what runs kin
read."

"But why, Slice, do you make such difference in
your charges?"

"Well, see here, kunnel, it don't much matter to me
ef them privates don't come; but it is some credit to
have fellers with eppletts on a settin' up to my vittles,
and ef I do make a leetle sommat at the licker busness,
it's you officers what has the muster here—so I gives
you free seats."

I determined to be one of his guests that day, as I
had heard he entertained well. So after parade I made
my way back to Slice's, and found I was not a moment
too early: dinner was already on a table spread in the
yard. As I came up, old Sol. mounted the table, and
cried out—at the same time waving a dirty dishcloth
above his head—"Oh yis, gentlemen! Oh yis! dinner's
reddy! Come, awl of yer."

Fortune gave me a seat near Bill Lever, than whom
it would be impossible to imagine a worse-looking or
better-natured fellow. To attempt a description of him
would be to make a failure. His face can bid defiance
to the brush and palette of the best artist. On my right
sat Tim Daly, "his shadder." Then began the clatter
of knives and forks, interspersed with loud orders for
"vittles." "More bread, here!" "Sol., you skunk,
bring that mutton here!" "Beef, beef, BEEF!" from a
burly old fellow, who was leaning back in his chair, his
eyes shut tight, and mouth like a young mocking-bird.
"Pass them taturs down this way, Uncle Slice—that's
you;" and squealed out a little sallow-faced sandlapper
—"More cowcumbers at this place!"

Old Sol. Slice was raised now. "You infernal copper-coloured
sneak! jist get rite up from that table!
You set there and holler as ef you paid fur yer dinner,
'stead of some pusson giving it to you! Jist hist, and
take yourself off to that clay bank down thar! You
wont be so much outen yer element thar, I reckin!
Will you go, — you?"

Cowcumber sloped.

"Is them your tums, Slice?" inquired Daly; "I
thought the turkey writ out—I want you awl to ete."

"D—n you and the gobler too—I want awl to ete,
but derned ef he's to ete awl! He's ete three plates of
cowcumbers a'reddy."

"Uncle Sol.," now put in Lever, "don't you see yer
bill is wrong? Now take my advice and have it altered
by next mustering day; and I reckon you had better
begin it this evenin', for you know it's a mity teedjus
job."

"You ugly son of a gun!" muttered old Sol., going
off—"yer mother ought to 'ave been ashamed of herself
to 'ave had you; but, poor creetur, I reckin she couldn't
help it."

"Mr. Lever," I asked, "why do these people always
speak of you as `ugly Bill Lever?' You do not think
yourself bad-looking, do you?"

"Well, kunnel, I used to blieve I was only toloble
good-looking, and remained in that blissful ignunce
twell I was proved to be the ugliest man in all Charleston:
and sence that, ef thar are anything that I humps
myself on, it's my ugly."

"Proven to be the worst-looking man—how was
that? Tell me."

"I never said wost-lookin—I sed ugliest—wostlookin,
the devil! Well, I went to Charleston, with
brother Lije Lever—he's one of yer wost-lookin fellers—I'm
ugly. As I was sayin', I went to town
with him; we tuck a load of poultry—we made a
right nice spec that trip, too. Well, arter we had laid
in some shugar, and coffee, and some necessaries, we
was—"

"Stop!" interrupted Daly. "What do you mean by
necessaries?"

"Licker."

"I thought so—go on."

"Well, arter gitting them things, we started for home.
As we was comin' up King Street—"

"Stop!" again interrupted Daly. "Who was
drivin'?"

"Brother Lije."

"Aha, and you was in the wagin on top the bar'l, as
uzual."

"I was in the waggin. Ef you don't hush, Tim, I'll
quit. We had got a matter of about half-way up the
street, when a dandy, dressed in the hite of fashun, and
mounted on a blood bay hoss, came canterin' down
ahead of us. All at wunst he drawed up by the side
of Lije, and ses he, `I've found him at last.'

" `Found what?' sez Lije.

" `Why,' sez the dandy, `I'll bet you ten dollars you
are the ugliest man in Charleston.'

"Sez Lije, very coolly, sez he, `I never bets, mister;
but I'm not deservin' of that honour; I'll show you
what is;' and turning in his saddle to'ards me, `Poke
yer head out, Billy,' sez he. No sooner said than done:
I histed the waggin-sheet, and looked out on him. I
never did see a feller so sot back! There he stood a
gazin' at me—I thought he was demented. At last,
comin' too a little, he sez to me, `You need not git out,
my friend—your face is sufficient to convince me. And,
though you didn't bet,' sez he, turnin' to Lije, `I think
you fully deserve the ten. Here it is. I thank you,
gentlemen, for the finest site that ever my eyes feasted
upon. Good mornin';' and he rode off."

Here Lever ceased speaking, and fell to eating very
rapidly, as if he wished to make up for lost time.

"Why don't you go on, Bill, and tell the kunnel
about the balance of that trip?" inquired Tim Daly.

" 'Cause you kin do it as well as me, and I've got to
the innard man now."

"Kunnel, Bill don't like to tell this, for ef thar are

anything he humps hisself on besides ugly, it is his manners
among the fimmales, and I'll say it here before him;
he does please the gals fust rate. A grate beau is Bill.
The day he left Charleston he dipped inter that gin
bar'l putty freekwent, in konsequence of which he
was, as one might say, travellin' incogniter all that
evening.

"Well, next morning he wanted warter the worst
sort; so the fust house he comes to, he goes up to the
gate, and hollered, `Keeps house?' A tall man come
out and wanted to know his will. Then it was he
stared. Did you ever see a greenhorn at a animal
show? Ef you has, then you kin have some idear of
the look he give Bill.

" `Could a body git some warter, ef you please?'

"The man stared afresh—so Bill began opening the
gate.

" `Stop, for heaven's sake,' sez the man; `I'll have
it brought to you.—Don't come in—my wife is in a
very delicut way, and the frite might cause a flustration.'
"

"That's a durned lie," shouted Lever. "Come,
boys, let's go in among the gals—I hear the fiddle."

We then adjourned to the "ball-room," which we
found crowded with dancers already on the floor.

"Come, kunnel," said Slice, "here is Miss Patsey
Jaggers, jest from town, and the best dancer in the
room: let me interduce you."

Sol. took my arm—led me across the room—and, in
all due form, presented me. I made my congee, and
solicited the "exquisite pleasure, the ecstatic delight,"

&c., which she readily promised. We conversed about
"town" and the people with whom she had there become
acquainted. I found her much more intelligent
than the girls one generally meets at such places.

"Take dem pardners, gemplemen," sung out Long
Ben, an old negro, who had fiddled for that "beat" for
the last quarter of a century. I immediately led out
Miss Patsey Jaggers, intending to take the "head."

"Col. Slokum," said she, "I see it is well for you
I came to-day; I know these people well. They do
not like strangers to take, what they call, liberties—it
would be better, therefore, that we should be second,
rather than first, in this reel; and you need not be very
precise in your steps; but if you know any negro
dances, fire away at them!"

When a boy, the negroes, at their frolies on my father's
plantation, had initiated me into all the "sleights"
of which their African legs were capable; and on this
day they stood me a good turn. When my time came,
therefore, I took "a hop, skip, and a jump" towards
my partner, "racked back on my hind feet a little," then
commenced "the double shuffle," "pigeon-wing on the
floor," "de same in de ar," "Pete Jonson's knock,"
"the under cleets," and other refined steps, "too numerous
to mention;" and finally finished off on "old
trimble toes"—a rare and difficult movement.—I saw
that I had succeeded, for shouts of applause for "the
kunnel" came from all quarters of the room. "Go it,
kunnel; you're a trump!" "Look at him, Jake!
what do you think of that?" "Why, the man hain't
a bone in him!" "He stands back on his hind feet
like a venison." "I wish I had him in my barn; he'd

tramp out wheat nice"—and such other comments
caused me to hold high my haughty head.

"Bill, now it's yer time," said our beef man. "You
are allers good, but I has a faint idear that you has
here met yer ekal."

"Two to one on that," squealed out Cowcumber.
"I knows Bill well, and I'll go you an independent on
his beating yon feller bad."

Lever now began, with a smile on his ugly countenance,
and—to my mortification—went through every
movement of mine with more ease; and in "casting
off" he even introduced a new step, which would be
as difficult to describe as to perform. He called it the
windin blades.

"Never care, Col.," said my partner; "after this
reel, we will risk a waltz together: and my word for it,
you will yet win."

The truth is, I did feel miserable, and was impatient
to get through.—Immediately, therefore, after the others
had taken their seats, I asked Long Ben to play a
waltz. By a lucky chance he once had learned one:
and, as he drew his bow, I started off with my partner.
Round and around we went, to the astonishment of all,
they never having witnessed any thing of the kind.
Miss Patsey was a fine mover, and really one of the
most graceful waltzers I have ever seen. As for myself,
I was delighted with the ease and action I displayed
on that occasion.

"Do not let it become too common," whispered my
fair one. I conducted her to a chair, now perfectly satisfied
with my success.

"Dem is de best dat ever happunt in dis beat," said
Long Ben.

"Kunnel, you've won," said Lever, with a hangdog
expression of countenance; "but I'm one what
never yit did give up in a dance, of any kind: so, if I
kin git a gal, I'll try that lick."

After some persuasion he "got a gal," and, calling on old Ben to "scrape them cat entrails," made an attempt,
but found they could not get off. It was something
like two unbroken colts when first put in harness;
they could not start together. At last Bill bellowed
out—"Here's what never baulks," and began to turn,
pulling her after him. About the third evolution of this
kind, the gal's feet parted company with the floor, and
lifted themselves upon a level with her head. I only
saw a red petticoat, and—being a modest man—turned
my back upon this "pair of revolvers." I could not,
however, stop my ears from the remarks of the old
woman.

"Oh, my Lord!" shrieked old Mrs. Spraggs, "that's
too bad, to have a feller-creatur's legs a flyin' in that
stile."

"Yes," was the observation of that spiteful old
maid, Miss Jemima Clipps, "purticularly of the feller-creetur's
legs happun to be crooked. I would advise
all you young gals to look at yer legs before you undertake
anything you ain't used to. Crooked legs is
mity bad in them turnin' dances."

I knew, from the noise behind me, that Bill was
"keeping even along;" when suddenly the noise was
increased a thousand-fold; and on old Mrs. Spraggs
exclaiming "thar," I turned in time to see Lever

stretched on the floor, and his gal just "settling upon
him." Old Mrs. Spraggs,—kind-hearted old soul—ran
to her assistance, and while picking her up whispered, as
all old ladies do, so as to be heard by all—"Git up,
Sall, all these fellers couldn't a seed more ef you was
married to 'em all." The "gall" arose to her feet,
dealing blows, right and left, upon poor Bill—"Take
that, and that, for histin' me up before all these people,
you onmannerly, ugly piece of deformity."

"I beg pardon, Sall," pleaded Lever, "I couldn't
help it—I wouldn't a done it ef I had knowed! you
knows I was on this eend of you and couldn't see
nuthin'."

The Amazon became doubly enraged at this, and
raising a chair, she threw it at Lever with such force,
that, had it done its errand, would have given him his
quietus. He adroitly avoided it, however, and escaped
through the door. She seemed perfectly satisfied with
this manly effort at redress; and in a short time looked
as if nothing had happened to disturb her peace of
mind.

Going into an adjoining room, I found Tim Daly
playing "old Sledge" with Cowcumber—five cents a
game. Fortune seemed to have favoured the sand-lapper,
if one might judge from the number of pieces at
his elbow. I stayed to watch the game. After a few
deals the luck turned. Cowcumber lost two or three
games, when, suddenly pressing both his bands upon
his stomach, he emitted some of the most piteous groans
that ever came from the breast of man.

"Aha, old feller, you want to come that same old
game on me, do you?"

"Oh, but, Tim, do let me go, now, I'll be back di-
rectly. I tuckt some ile this mornin', and that must be
attended to."

"No, I tell you, sir, ile or no ile, I don't kere what
you do with yourself—thar you sets twell I say you kin
git up; and I needn't be so purticular in my observations
to you as to say, that won't be ontwell all that
pile comes back inter my hands. You've tricked me
before, and as I know yer derned herrin' belly don't
trouble you when you are winnin', I'm determined it
shan't pester you when yer loosing."

Tim made good his word; in half an hour he had
won it all, and that without an accident.

Thus the day was passed, in dancing, drinking, card-playing,
and fighting. One "engagement" may be
mentioned. It was not fought on that day, however,
but spoken of by "our beef-man."

About twelve o'clock that night, he, together with
two or three others, might have been seen seated on the
staircase. Cowcumber was among their number.
They seemed to have had a "war talk."

"Talking about fightin'," says Beef, "aminds me
of a engagement what tuck place atween Joe Humphries
and Sam Higgins once. I ain't a goying to tell
you 'nother quarrel—that would take too long a time:
they was at it two years therseffs. Findally, howsomedever,
they yoked at Spartinbug Court House. Now,
you what hain't the faintest idear of what fightin' is,
won't b'lieve what I'm bout to norate. But, as I was
a sayin', they yoked, and they fit, and they fit, and I do
reckin, in all their backin's and forrerdin's they kivered
nigh two acres of ground. Hit was floatin' in blood!

You might a githered a half a gallon of years, and
thumbs, and fingers, and noses! They would bite
pieces outen one another and spit 'em out agin, and
take a fresh holt, and when they let that go the piece
would be in ther mouth. They had been fitin' one
solid hour, when I got sick and quit the field."

"Which whoopt," inquired Cowcumber.

"I don't know, I left 'em fightin'! the last I heared
from thar they was fightin', and I do reckin ther at it
yet—its a vinemous fite."

"Who is he," I asked of Lever.

"Why, that's Jack Woodruff—he's the derndest,
biggest, onremittentest liar from Charleston to the
mountings!'